Your Will
by Beeblebabe
Summary: Part one of three tales of Seymour Guado, at different important moments in his life. Young Seymour and his mother are banished to Baaj Island, far from the safety of Guadosalam.


Guadosalam lies inland, miles from any body of water greater than a lake or a river.  To live there is to live in the earth, surrounded only by the moisture of rain from the Thunder Plains seeping through the roots.  The air there is thick and wet, but rich with the smell of earth.

Rare is the Guado who knows how to swim, or even feels the need.

                They traveled days over land.  His mother spoke little on the journey; she kept her head pressed to the window of the carriage, dark hair shading in front of her eyes.  She would offer him a small smile if he pulled at her sleeve, but the light behind her eyes was dim.  When they set out, she had told him

not to be afraid, but they were going away for a while.  He trusted his mother, and had not feared for himself, but only for her.

They reached the port in Luca after more than a week's travel.  He had been dozing on his mother's arm when they finally stopped, and he held on to her hand when they went out into the city.

He saw the ocean for the first time in Luca Harbor.  Spread out for miles, darker blue fading into the line of the sky, with no border, no ending. The sky was infinite above him, and the ocean surrounding.  For the first time since leaving Guadosalam, he felt afraid.

"I want to go home, mother," he whispered, pulling on her sleeve.  He could close his eyes and almost feel it: the coolness of the earth around him, the scent of soil, the stillness of the roots.

"I'm sorry," she whispered back.  The salt in the air stung his nose and pricked at his eyes, and the wind unsteadied him on his feet.  "We can't go home."

"Why not?" He closed his eyes again as a gust of wind blew the spray of the sea into his face.  The water felt heavy and dirty on his skin.

"I will explain on the way, Seymour."  She looked towards the sea, too, then, and let out a breath he could feel in her skin.

"On the way where?"

By then they were moving, their escorts leading her, and her guiding him by the hand.  He caught breezes of whisper as they passed through the city, heading ever closer to the edge of the world and the beginning of the sea. Are those Guado? they asked.  They'd never seen one before, they said.

I've never seen /you/ before either, Seymour thought to himself.  Except for Mother, and she is hardly the same as a human.  She lives with us Guado, and lives the same as us Guado, so she is the same as a Guado.

The people of Luca continued to stare at his escorts and at him (The little one looks different, doesn't he? they said), and he could understand why the Guado didn't care much for the humans.  They did not seem to know how to mind their own affairs.

The sharp smell of the ocean drew his attention from the watching eyes.  They had stopped at the edge of a dock, stretched out like a long arm into the dark endlessness of the water.  Seymour moved a little closer to his mother, wrapping his fingers tight around the folds of her skirt. Her hand, with its cool skin and small fingers, pressed to the back of his neck as he gazed upward at what they had stopped in front of.

/What is it?/ he began to ask, but stopped the words before he sounded a fool.  A ship.  He knew about ships.  They were like the small boats used to cross the Moonflow, or the chill waters of Lake Macalania, only larger, suited for the ocean.

He felt his hands go cold as another spray of water stung his face.  "Mother?" he whispered, staring at the ship's dark sails.

"We are going away, Seymour," she said, voice soft and calm.  "We will not be going home."

Familiar salt stung in his eyes.  "Why?"

                His mother drew in a long breath, as though it were difficult for her to breathe the salty air as well. "It is your father's will," she said, after too long.  "It is the will of the Guado."

                He had long stopped crying by the time they docked at Baaj. His mother's words had soothed his tears eventually.  I am here to care for the temple, she said.  And you are with me because I love you.

                Seymour had never heard of Baaj or its temple in any of his teachings, but his mother told him that this was because it was not on the path of the pilgrimage.  It was simply a place of praise to Yevon, built when people had lived on Baaj.  But now, the people were gone, destroyed in Sin's wake; the temple remained, however, and a temple always needs at least one to care for it.  They had chosen her because of his father's position, she said.  And you will stay with me, and we will guard it together.

                Those words stayed in his mind as they left the ship, but he tried not to think of the way his mother's eyes had looked cold when she spoke them, or how her smile had been different.

                The ocean surrounding Baaj looked different than it did in Luca.  The dark line of the sea bled out into the half-yellow stormy sky, somehow even wider and emptier than before, even with the familiar comfort of the rain hanging in the air. His mother's hand, even though far smaller than his own even then, squeezed tight around his as she lead him to where they would live.

                The house was built of marble and stone, and held in it the chill from the surrounding air.  It had been furnished to befit a lord's wife and child, with bright flowers and rich fabrics draped from the walls.  Seymour paused in front of a dark statue that dominated the main hall.  It was of some sort of beast, with dark, ornately-decorated skin.  Its teeth were bared in something Seymour could not name as either a smile or a grimace.  Its stone eyes did not turn down to regard him in return, but stared only forward.

                "It was once one of the fiends that preyed on this island."  The escort's voice echoed in the cold hall, making Seymour jump slightly.  "Before the Teachings were brought to Baaj, the people sought to revere the beasts, in hope of calming their wrath."

                His mother looked down at him with a small smile ghosting her lips.  Her eyes told him to speak, to prove.

                "But..." He started to reach out to touch the leg of the stone fiend, then drew his hand away as his fingers felt the cold radiating from it.  "Why keep them here now, when they are against the Teachings?"

                "Because it does us well to remember adversity." His mother's voice echoed too, but somehow warmer.  She lifted her chin as she looked at their escort.  "To see what stands against the Teachings reminds us of the strength of the Teachings."  Their escort's lips were pursed tight and white.  "To be put in doubt can only serve to make us more faithful."

                Their escort said no more; he turned on his heel and lead them to their rooms.  His mother reached down to place a hand over his hair, briefly smoothing down the wild, rough mass.

                "Have faith," she whispered to him.

                Seymour looked to the statue one last time, and wondered if the people of Baaj had still worshipped their fiends after Yevon had come to them.

                They were left with a handful of servants and a promise of return four times yearly, to replenish supplies and bring news of home.  Seymour wondered if his father would ever come to see them, but did not bother to hold any hope.  His father was a man of importance, and could not be pulled from his duties for so long.  The thought did not make him too sad; he still had his mother.

                The first night there, it stormed.  He couldn't sleep for the sound of the water slapping against the glass window, and the feel of the cold from the stones.  At home in Guadosalam, when the storm from the Thunder Plains had crept over the borders, it had been welcome.  The rain was soundless, except for the subtle noise of expanding soil and drinking roots.  It had cooled, but had been the clean sort of chill, the air fresh with the scent of satisfied earth.  

                Here, though, the lightning crashed every few minutes, casting flashes of light through the room and making Seymour's skin tingle with electricity.  A storm was a storm, he told himself, although he pulled the covers up to his nose as he did so.  The Thunder Plains were no different than this.  He closed his eyes and tried to sleep... but he could hear the sound of lapping waves beneath the steady thrum of the rain.

                As he put his feet down on the bare floor, he told himself that this would only happen once.  After this, he would be strong and make her proud.  He relit the candle that rested by his bedside and went into the hall, shivering at the crackling air.  He would be strong later, but for now...

                "Seymour?" His mother's voice was soft and sleepy as he stood in the doorway.  He closed the door behind him, blew out the candle, and scurried quickly across the darkened room to climb into his mother's bed and curl against her.  "Oh, Seymour."

                He hadn't done this since he was very small, and now, resting with his ear to his mother's heartbeat, he felt that young again.  He didn't mind it now, though; to be young was to be protected and kept safe.  His hands clutched in the soft fabric of her nightdress and he sighed.  "I'm afraid of the ocean, mother."

                Her small fingers pressed against his back, moving in small soothing circles.  "The ocean?" she whispered, the air of her words filtering into his hair.  "Why is the ocean frightening?"

                The closer he moved to her, the more he could hear her heart, and the more he could hear that, the more the ocean faded away.  "It doesn't end," he murmured into her chest.  "If these walls fell down, it would just be the ocean, and nothing would be holding us in."

                She made a quiet sound, like mothers make when their children are frightened.  "The walls will not fall down, Seymour."  Her hand cupped the back of his head and held him close.  "Have faith in that."

                The soft rhythm of her heart made the words into a promise, and he could close his eyes again.  "I will, mother."

                It stormed the next three nights, but he felt no need to leave his bed.


End file.
